


Pink Like the Halls of Your Heart

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 5 +1, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mild mention of blood, Minor Injuries, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Size Difference, lots of soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: Catching sight of the faded Crownsguard logo on the front of his sweatshirt, Gladio furrows his brow and reaches out to pluck at the material. A flash of Prompto’s collarbone peeks out where it hangs loose on his frame. “Is this mine?”Five times Prompto borrows Gladio's clothes and one time Gladio borrows his.





	Pink Like the Halls of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muncharoux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muncharoux/gifts).



> HI THIS IS SO LATE AHHHH !!! but happy happy birthday to my lovely friend Muncharoux!!! I am so lucky and grateful to have you in my life and to get to know you more and more ♡ I hope you like this fluffy story! You deserve all the sweet times and love! 
> 
> I've always wanted to write a 5+1 story so I hope it turned out okay :0c Title is from the song Pynk by Janelle Monáe.
> 
> Enjoy~

1.

The lights are on when Gladio open the front door, soft yellow spilling into the entryway. He freezes, listening for any unusual movement further in. It isn’t like Noctis to be up and about this early, but the hushed sounds of a video game filter down the hall.

“Noct? That you?”

The ringing clash of swords cuts off abruptly, plunging the flat into silence. When no one answers, Gladio grips the convenience store bag tight in hand and inches forward on his toes, heart loud in his ears.

Someone’s curled up on the couch, but it isn’t Noctis. He’s swaddled in sleep rumpled clothes, blonde hair mussed into a bird’s nest. A pair of glasses perch on his nose framing his wide eyes as he stares up at Gladio, who blinks and drops his stance.

“Uh,” the boy says. “Noct is still asleep.”

“Figures.”

Gladio glances at the tv screen, characters paused mid-battle. “That the new Last Legend?”

“Have you played it? Noct invited me over to check it out and it’s so good, I ended up missing the last train.” He rubs his neck endearingly and Gladio grins and sticks out a hand.

“Prompto, right?”

He scrambles to his feet, grip firm when they shake hands. “Y-yeah, that’s me.”

Catching sight of the faded Crownsguard logo on the front of his sweatshirt, Gladio furrows his brow and reaches out to pluck at the material. A flash of Prompto’s collarbone peeks out where it hangs loose on his frame. “Is this mine?”

“Uh…”

“Pretty sure it is. Been looking for this.”

“Noct lent it to me,” Prompto says, shuffling his feet. “Should I give it back?”

“Nah, it’s in good hands.” Gladio claps him on the shoulder and makes for Noctis’ room.

Throwing open the curtains resurrects a groan from the bed, Noctis pulling the covers overhead to block out the dawning sun. Gladio makes them his next target, tugging the blankets from his grip.

“You lending my clothes out to anyone now?”

Blinking blearily, Noctis rubs at an eye. “Wuh?”

Gladio jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Blondie out there.”

“Oh.” Noctis arches like a cat and curls into a ball. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t.”

A disbelieving hum accompanies the scrutinizing look Noctis shoots over his shoulder.

“I _don’t_.”

“Whatever you say.”

Irritation burns tight in Gladio’s chest and he nudges harder at Noctis’ back, but it only worsens his rolly-polly defense. “I say it’s time to train.”

“Ugh, fine.”

When Noctis slinks out of the bed and into the bathroom, Gladio returns to the living room to find Prompto tidying up the couch and games.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah, guess I’ll head home for the day.” He sounds less than enthused, mouth pulling tight at the edges as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

Gladio leans against the wall and glances him over. “You’re welcome to join us if you like.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” says Gladio, watching the way Prompto perks up like a wilted flower brought back to life. “Might even get Noctis to actually try for once.”

Noctis stumbles out of his room and heads for the entryway. “I resent that.”

“We’ll see when we get to it, won’t we?” says Gladio, following close behind. “You comin’ or what blondie?”

“Y-yeah!” Prompto’s scrambling footsteps trail behind them, endearing in their eagerness.

* * *

2.

Another kid zooms past with a fistful of tickets clenched tight, the cacophony of screeching and ringing turning into white noise. Gladio blinks against the glare of all the neon blinking lights and sighs. The dying wail of a game over flashes on the screen across from him, Prompto pumping up his fists with a whoop.

“That’s how it’s done!” 

He slings an arm across Noctis’ shoulders, ignoring his brooding pout. “Best five outta six?”

“Nah. Wanna try out that new racing game?”

Gladio catches the glance Prompto throws his way and shifts, trying his best to be unassuming.

It’s his job to be large and imposing, to take up space. With Prompto now firmly cemented at the center of Noctis’ social life he finds himself actively trying to minimize his presence into something less. Prompto’s from outside the world of politics and royalty and shields. He’s fallen into its orbit with an outside perspective, gifting Noctis with a friendship untainted by bias and manipulation, and although Gladio couldn’t give a damn what others think of him it sounds… nice. To be seen beyond the shadow of the citadel.

He can’t tell what Prompto sees when he looks his way.

“Sure,” he says to Noctis, and they put up their plastic rifles.

The aisle is packed with teenagers stopping by after school and the scattered winds of a child’s birthday party surrounding the rows of consoles. Gladio towers over most of the crowd, watching his step as he follows after the others as they weave towards the far corner.

A kid darts across right as Prompto swings out into the main throughway and they collide, almost toppling them into the claw machine before Gladio grabs their arms. The same can’t be said for the kid’s basket of chili cheese fries splattered on the floor with an incriminating smear down the front of Prompto’s shirt.

“I-I’m sorry!” the kid cries, bursting into tears.

Gladio crouches down to eye level, waiting for a break in the wailing apologies. In the corner of his eye he sees Noctis drawing away from the attention, cap angled low over his face. “It’s fine, it’ll wash out,” he says, using the voice he reserves for Iris when she’s upset. “It was a mistake. Are you okay?”

The sobbing slows, tiny hands rubbing at their eyes as they nod.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Prompto adds with a grin. “Could’ve asked for a lot worse than cheesy fries.”

A frantic father rushes over, scooping up his sniffling child as he apologizes. Reassurances are passed around again before they finally part ways, Noctis melting back into existence when everyone’s interest returns to their games.

“That was really sweet of you.”

Gladio meets Prompto’s gaze, unsure of the warmth he finds. _What does he see?_ He shrugs a shoulder and avoids the funny look Noctis shoots him.

“Ugh.” Prompto pulls at his shirt. “This is uncomfortable. Sorry Noct, we may have to cut it short today.”

A shadow flickers across Noctis’ face, there and gone in a blink, but Gladio catches it all the same and sighs. “C’mon,” he says and places a hand on each of their shoulders to direct them towards the bathroom.

Noctis busies himself with the game across from the doors, Gladio leaning against the wall by the water fountain as they wait. Ten minutes pass, another screaming birthday kid running past as Noctis manages to hook a spot on the leaderboard of his game.

With a sharp rap on the bathroom door, Gladio cracks it open to peer over at Prompto standing by the sink, counter strewn with crumpled paper towels. “Everything okay?”

“Uh…”

Gladio shoots a glance at Noctis who’s moved over to the game next to the last and ducks inside. The lighting falls flat on Prompto’s hair, the grittiness sharpening the pout of his lower lip as he stares down at his shirt. He’s managed to wipe the worst of the damage off, but the underlying stain lies emphasized by the growing water spot around it.

“I think I made it worse.”

“Here,” says Gladio, and grabs the hood of his sweatshirt and tugs it over head. When his head pops free he shakes the static from his growing hair. “Take that off.”

He pauses to straighten out his t-shirt where it rode up high on his ribs and when he looks up, curious at the lack of response, Prompto’s eyes are wide. Snapping his mouth shut, he grabs the hoodie and stutters out a thank you before ducking into the far stall with a bang.

Unsure of whether his offer was appreciated or not, Gladio exits the bathroom in confusion and plants himself next to Noctis to wait.

“Thanks again,” Prompto says when he emerges. The hem of the sweatshirt hangs low on his legs, fingertips peeking out from the edges of the sleeves.

Noctis throws his game, the pixeled tune of defeat sounding in fanfare as he spins around. His eyebrows disappear behind his bangs and he shoots Gladio a strange look. It goes straight through him, as if Noctis can see all the tender nerves tucked inside him.

Without thinking, Gladio crosses his arms across his chest. “Are we done?”

“Soon,” says Noctis, eyes flicking over Gladio one last time. He slings an arm across Prompto’s shoulders to lead him towards the dance game in the far corner.

Gladio almost misses it when he whispers something that makes the tips of Prompto’s ears catch fire, the swell of red smearing down the back of his neck where the hood slides down.

* * *

3.

The tile of the changing room floor is frigid beneath Gladio’s feet. He dances across them to his locker, shimmying into his pants to stave off the cold that sneaks in whenever the door opens. Lockers bang against each other, laughter rising up like steam around him as the rest of the trainees file in.

Next to him a dial spins, Prompto already dressed as he opens his locker to grab his bag. His cheeks sport a healthy flush left over from training and the ends of his hair curl in the humidity from the showers.

Gladio claps him on the shoulder and leaves his hand there. “You did great today,” he says. He means it, too.

When Prompto had announced his intention to join the crownsguard, it was unclear how much was based on a whim, but Gladio’s since come to terms with his unrelenting resolve. Cor had expressed much of the same to him once in private. 

Prompto flushes pink, eyes darting down and away. “Thanks, big guy,” he says. “Wouldn’t be this far without your help.”

“That’s not true.” Gladio glances down and frowns. “You going out in that?”

Tugging at the hem of his tank top, Prompto grimaces. “I forgot a jacket.”

“Hold up a sec.”

As he roots around in the depths of his locker, Gladio prays to every astral above that the older sweatshirt he pulls out doesn’t smell musty or stale. He pulls it free and shakes it out, giving it a discreet sniff and determining it worthy enough to hand over.

“Here,” he says. “Can’t have our future crownsguard getting sick on us.”

Prompto blinks and takes it carefully in hand, eyes softening. With a cough, Gladio glances away and across the locker room, an older recruit catches his eye and winks.

“Thanks, Gladio, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing.” Gladio wriggles into a shirt. “Can’t have you getting sick on us. Who’d put up with Prince Charmless then?” He nearly strangles himself when he catches sight of Prompto.

The black fabric of the hoodie swallows him, the hood falling low over his eyes so that they glitter with mischief. His lips twist up in a pleased grin and Gladio’s heart knocks against his ribcage.

Oh.

He breathes deep to flood the space left around the clench in his chest. 

“I’ll bring it back next time!”

Gladio tucks his hands into his pockets to keep them from doing something stupid. “No sweat, I have a few to spare,” he says aloud. _It looks good on you,_ he thinks to himself. The words stick at the back of his throat.

“I gotta catch the train, but I’ll see you soon!” Prompto shuts his locker, flips his bag over his shoulder, and disappears out the door with a final little wave.

Far from alone, Gladio resumes changing and packs his things before slipping down the hall to a hidden alcove. He raises a hand to his chest and presses hard as if to quiet the drums within and wondering how the fuck he ended up in this predicament.

* * *

4.

“Are you mad?”

Gladio clenches his jaw, accidentally swiping hard enough that Prompto winces. He eases up, dabbing away the bloody mess beneath his nose gentle and precise. The skin beneath one of his eyes is already blooming purple and Gladio avoids it with care. He can hardly imagine the fit Noctis will throw when he finds out.

He tosses the dirty wipes in the trash and wets another in the sink, keeping the water cool to soothe any aches. Prompto swings his feet idly where they dangle over the counter and Gladio works at the smear beneath his chin. 

It’s hard not to focus on how close they’re pressed together - Prompto’s knees against his sides, warm skin soft under Gladio’s touch. There are more freckles than he thought, some light enough to hide from a distance. He avoids any eye contact, unsure of what he’ll find.

“That was stupid,” he says.

“I know.”

There’s no saving Prompto’s shirt, but with the last of his skin clean Gladio pitches the wad of wipes away and leans back against the opposite wall with a sigh. The bathroom is small and unassuming, tucked away down a hallway less traveled, and their legs bump when he moves.

The silence stretches long and brittle, Prompto fidgeting restlessly with his wristband. A shrill beep snaps it, Gladio digging his phone from his pocket to skim the message.

“It’s Cor,” he says. “He wants to see you.”

Prompto picks at a dried fleck of blood on his wrist. “He’s gonna kill me.”

“Nah. Probably give you one hell of a punishment routine, but nothing like the other guy.” Tilting his head, Gladio considers Prompto carefully. “Was pretty smart of you to goad him into throwing the first punch.”

“Oh… you heard that?”

Not so much as caught the last few prodding words and the whipcrack of the first punch. It was anticipated, Prompto dropping down before lashing out in return. It was quick and dirty and by the time they’d managed to pull them away, both parties had gotten in their hits, though Prompto was in far better shape. Gladio felt a twinge of guilt and pride at that.

“Not much. I just can’t figure out _why_ you did it.”

A spark flashes across Prompto’s eyes, shadows darkening around them. Gladio’s seen this look before on others, but it’s startling on features usually dedicated to unwavering warmth. When he speaks each word is measured out exact with restraint.

“He degraded Noctis.” Prompto meets his gaze head on. “I don’t regret it.”

The iron loyalty in his voice holds true, an unspoken pillar sparked into flame and the final nail in Gladio’s fledgling doubt. “Good,” he says.

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Oh I’m furious,” Gladio finds his discarded bag on the floor and roots around inside, “but I understand.”

He finds what he’s looking for and tugs it out, several books threatening to follow it to freedom. “Here, change outta that mess.”

Prompto accepts the sweatshirt from him, holding it awkwardly as his eyes flash towards the door.

“I can…” Gladio jerks his thumb towards it, but Prompto shakes his head and pulls the hem of his soiled shirt up over his head.

Ears burning, Gladio jerks his gaze to the ceiling to study the decorative whorls along the trim to grant him a semblance of privacy. The bathroom feels much too hot beneath the lights and every sound Prompto makes feels amplified between them.

“Okay,” says Prompto. “Thanks.”

He’s slouched into the hoodie, hands tucked in the sleeves with the hem pooled loose in his lap. His training shorts peek out from underneath, the line of his legs thick with muscle. The collar droops low on his neck, listing down one shoulder, and Gladio’s heart damn near falls out of his body.

“It’s no problem,” he says, voice tight.

Prompto frowns, glancing up at him and then grins. He shrugs a shoulder, the hoodie sliding lower. “Do you like the way I look in your clothes?”

It’s point blank, a smack in the face, and all Gladio can do is stare. His voice snaps back to him like a rubber band and he splutters indignantly, cut off by Prompto wrapping a fist in his shirt and tugging. He falls into it, hands landing on either side of his hips.

“Hm?”

His gaze is lidded, shining violet in the light, and Gladio’s eyes flicker down to the pink of his lips. “Y-yeah I do.”

Prompto slides his hands up around his neck and into his hair, tugging gently. “Wanna know a secret?” he whispers, and it ghosts against Gladio’s face. He isn’t sure how he ended up here, with only a breath between them, but he can scarcely dare to speak for fear of breaking it. 

“I do, too.”

He isn’t sure who surges forward first. They meet like stars colliding after having been trapped in each others’ orbits, unable to reach out and touch. Electricity spikes in Gladio’s veins and he lifts a hand to cup Prompto’s jaw and press deeper. They kiss slow and searching, the final strands of restraint snapping as he falls further into his gravity. Prompto arches up against him and he leans into it, addicted and yearning - always yearning. The slick sounds of their lips bounce off the tile as they part and merge like waves on a beach, the sweatshirt bunching in Gladio’s hands as he grasps and tugs. 

He’s content enough to never breathe again, to drown without another thought, but Prompto breaks away with a sharp whimper, lifting a hand to hover above his nose.

“Sorry.”

Gladio strokes his thumb softly beneath his eye and presses a final kiss to Prompto’s other cheek before pulling away. His hand is caught in both of Prompto’s, his grip tight as he barks a laugh. “Please don’t apologize for the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Oh?” Pride swells in Gladio’s chest and voice, crooked grin sprawling across his lips. He waggles his eyebrows and Prompto pushes away his face with a playful groan. “Just wait until the next one.”

Their laughter peters off as the words set in, Prompto peering up shyly with a small smile. “Next one?”

Shyness is an unfamiliar guest, and Gladio ducks his head. “If you like.”

“Oh, I like,” says Prompto, tugging him close again. He makes a show of giving him an exaggerated once over and smiles. “I like very much.”

They’re interrupted by another insistent tone from Gladio’s phone and they both jump. “Guess I better go,” says Prompto, though he makes no move to leave. “Catch you later?”

“Count on it.” Gladio squeezes his hands and lets go, stepping back so he has room to hop down.

Prompto steals a last kiss, brief and sweet as spring, before he slips back out into the hall, leaving Gladio to his thoughts.

“And what has you in such a pleasant mood today?” Ignis asks later that night.

Noctis peeks over the back of the couch with a scrutinizing glance. “Yeah, it’s weird.”

The chop of the knife against the cutting board never wavers, Gladio focusing hard on the vegetables laid out before him. “The weather’s just nice,” he says. “Was getting sick of all the rain.”

A disbelieving scoff follows Noctis’ descent into the cushions, followed by the resumed racket of his latest game. Ignis takes the board of fresh cuts from Gladio to the saucepan and speaks lowly between them. “And I suppose it has nothing to do with Prompto showing up in another of your hoodies?”

Gladio grins in spite of himself. “No idea what you mean.”

“Of course.” He doesn’t ask again, but the amused twitch of his lips is approval enough.

* * *

5.

“We’re gonna be late!”

Gladio digs around in his drawers, dumping a pile of workout shorts on the floor to fold away later. “I know, I know!” he calls. “I can’t find my Justice Monsters hoodie.”

“Oh.”

The single word stops his path of upheaval in its tracks. He peeks his head around the doorframe. “Oh?”

Prompto glances up at him from where he’s on the couch, feet tucked up beneath him and currently bundled in said hoodie. He offers up a sheepish grin, the same he did the day he tumbled into Gladio’s life. 

“Well, that answers that question,” says Gladio. “You keep this up and I won’t have any left to wear.”

“It’s cold and your clothes are warm.” Prompto juts his lips out in a pout and Gladio leans over the back of the couch to plant an upside down kiss on it.

He grabs a jacket from the hall closet and slips it on. “Well, c’mon then. We’re late enough as it is.”

“And who’s fault is that, I wonder,” Prompto teases, joining him in the entryway to slip into his boots.

Gladio’s hand meets its mark, a squawk ripped from Prompto’s lips as he tips forward from the swat to his ass. “I’ll wager it’s because of the hoodie thief.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Prompto shoots over his shoulder as he rights himself.

His cheeky glance sparks a fire, the air drawing tight around them as Gladio crowds him against the door. Pink dusts across Prompto’s cheeks as he angles his chin up so their lips whisper against each other.

It’s hard to believe they’re here, that he gets to soak in all of Prompto’s light. Every day bursts with the excitement of a new experience molded in the warmth of well-earned familiarity. Gladio stares down at him, tracing a thumb along his jaw and watching the way his throat bobs. 

“Guess they can wait a little longer,” he says, and dives in for a kiss.

* * *

+1

“Oh my god,” says Noctis, hands flying up to cover his eyes.

Gladio pays him no attention, heading for the kitchen with his head held high. The chill of the fridge is a welcome relief against the rising summer heat and he drains the last of the milk straight from the carton.

Glancing up from the table, Ignis offers him a single raised brow before returning to his papers. “Put those away before you remove someone’s eye.”

“Aw Iggy, don’t be like that.”

His intended target finally tears his eyes from the game on the screen, glancing back before jerking around in a double take that nearly throws him from the couch. “Is that…” Prompto blinks hard. “Is that my shirt?”

Gladio twists around, flexing his muscles in exaggerated poses to show off the white material stretched translucent thin across his pecks. He’d found it at the back of a drawer, forgotten long enough to be deemed okay for use. It’s little more than a crop top on him, the hem sliding up to the bottom of his ribs.

“It’s too hot today,” he says, offering a wicked grin. “Figured I’d find out whether this boyfriend fashion trend is really worth it or not.”

“That’ll never unstretch,” says Noctis, face twisting in disgust as he watches from between his fingers.

Prompto breaks into giggles and Gladio pretends to pout, crossing his arms in a way that threatens the seams. “Don’t you think I look cute?”

The laughter peters off, Prompto popping off the couch to sidle close against him. His greeting kiss is warm and soft and Gladio bends to his will, melting inside at his smile when they part. “You look beautiful baby.”

Noctis fakes a retch over the side of the couch and Gladio flips him off behind Prompto’s back. He leaves it on around the apartment for the rest of the day - out of spite and, if he’s being honest, because of the heated glances Prompto shoots his way. And if he dives in to peel it off him when they’re alone later that night, well, Gladio’s not one to complain.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this! Let me know your thoughts?
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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